A Chance Meeting
by MooseOnARoof
Summary: My take on the night House and Wilson met. Chapter 1 from Wilson's POV. Chapter 2 Drabble fron House's POV. Rated T for some strong language. Read and enjoy.
1. Wilson

**I don't own stuffs, like House, Wilson, Louisiana, Billy Joel or his song.**

**A/N My own take on what happened the day Wilson and House met. From Wilson's POV. If they seem OOC then I take responsibility. But hey, I'm learning. **

**Considering doing a second chapter from House's POV but I'll have to see. Enjoy :D**

* * *

I paced around the room, weaving my body between suited men and white coated students. I didn't know anybody in the room at all. Peter had promised he would try and get here on time but he was exceptionally unreliable. I saw a vacant spot in the corner of the vast, spacious hall and headed in that direction.

I hate medical conventions but I was there on invitation. Twelve graduates were chosen to attend due to their high grades and potential. Although it seemed only one actually was willing to attend.

I finally got my body into the corner and leaned back onto the wall. It had been a trek but I had succeeded. I stuck the lid of my pen in my mouth a chewed frantically, trying to calm the nerves that bubbled in my stomach. I was looking eagerly across the sea of faces looking for any sort of ally. Anyone I had seen in any capacity at McGill. I couldn't see anybody that triggered a memory. I began patting the flimsy wooden clipboard on my right thigh, praying and hoping someone would turn up.

It felt like an eternity when a man approached in my direction, seemingly looking at me. He was average height and build with closely cut dark hair and glasses. He was about 35-40 and was wearing an all black suit. He stood out like a sore thumb. I had no idea who he was. He glanced down to a slip of paper in his left hand and then looked back at me. I gulped as he stopped a couple of feet in front of me. He swung a black holdall from around his back and unzipped the front pocket.

He gave me a sadistic smirk. "Are you a Mr James Evan Wilson?"

I stuttered. "Um..Yeah, yeah. I am. Yes." I gave a stupid lopsided grin.

He pulled out a large brown envelope and handed it to me. I looked down with a furrowed brow and fiddled with the flap of the envelope. I didn't want to open it. I knew what it was already.

"You've been served Mr Wilson." With that closing statement, he turned and headed back through the crowd, towards the exit.

I froze, staring, with my head bowed, at the envelope. I couldn't believe Karen had actually done it. She had called her lawyers and began divorce proceedings. I knew it wasn't going well and I knew inevitably it would come to an end, but I never wanted to admit it to myself.

I opened the flap slowly and carefully, making sure nobody was looking. I took a peek at the first page. _Mrs. Karen L. Wilson vs Mr James E. Wilson_. I looked up at the ceiling and scrunched my eyes shut. I didn't want to believe it. But there it was in print. I took a look at the second page and found she had cited 'irreconcilable differences' and 'adultery' as the reasons for the divorce.

I grimaced as I read the latter. 'Adultery' sounded dirty and evil. I suppose it is, but to see yourself being accused of it just makes_ you_ feel dirty. An adulterer label always sticks no matter what and I was going to have to testify. I was going to have to stand up in court and admit I am a bastard who cheats on his wife when things get difficult. I guess I am a bastard for cheating but I was stuck in an unhappy marriage and I didn't have the balls to end it. I guess I was subconsciously looking for a reason to make it fail. And that reason came in the form of a pretty, brunette coffee shop worker.

Still, to see it written down, confirmed, concrete and 'rubber stamped' was hard to take. I shoved the papers back into the envelope and slid it under the clipboard. I didn't want to be here any longer. Listening to an endless array of boring, turgid and arrogant doctors and surgeons did not sound appealing after being served with divorce papers. I knew there was a decent bar called Franklin's about five or six blocks from the hall. It was probably the best place to go to drown my sorrows.

I clasped the envelope and clipboard close to my chest and made my way back through the crowd with my head down, avoiding eye contact with the ever expanding crowd of people. I felt claustrophobic as I made my way through, and I could feel a tightening in my chest. I managed to get out of the double doors before my legs began to tremble and give way under my weight. I gasped for air as I leant myself back onto the wall and slid down onto the floor. I was having a panic attack. I thought I had got past these attacks after 4th year but the sudden news of my impending divorce had stunned me to the core.

I was going to be alone again. I hated being alone. The feeling that nobody is there for you, to pick you up and dust you off, scares me.

I began inhaling and exhaling in long, hard, deep breaths. _This will pass. __This will pass. _I kept chanting the mantra inside my head. _This will pass. This will pass._ I shut my eyes and gave myself a few minutes to calm down as my heart felt like it was about to burst out my chest and I could feel beads of sweat running down the back of my neck.

I placed my hands palms down onto the floor and pushed myself up back onto my feet. As I got up a petite lady picked up my items and handed them back to me. She looked concerned.

"Are you alright?" She touched my shoulder.

I sheepishly grinned and waved my hand. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Thank you." I took the items out of her hand and instinctively pulled them towards my chest. I wiped my dirty palms on my lab coat, leaving a grubby grey smudge on the right pocket.

"Are you sure? You look a bit pale there."

I shuffled my feet nervously. "I'm fine thanks. Probably just haven't been getting enough sun." I gave a feeble chuckle and made my way out of the entrance door. I felt a bit rude just dismissing her like that but I needed a drink. I tossed my clipboard onto the wooden table next to the door and headed off.

It was bitterly cold outside with a blustery wind swirling debris on the concrete sidewalk Stupidly, I had forgot to bring a jacket so all I had was a flimsy lab coat and a thin sweater between my skin and the brisk winds. I buttoned up my lab coat and stuck one hand in my pocket, with the other holding the envelope.

* * *

It took about fifteen minutes to get to Franklin's. It was already pretty busy, with the bar full of students who had the same idea as I had and decided drinking was better than listening. I took a seat on the bar stool second from the left, tossed off my lab coat and dumped it on the bar. I then placed the envelope down on the bar and spread my hands over the top. It felt like Pandora's Box. So tempting to open and see what's inside but at the same time too frightening to contemplate what was actually there. A sturdy looking barman disturbed my intense concentration.

"What can I get you man?" He placed his hands down on the bar. "You look like you need something strong."

I cocked my head to one side and nodded. "You could say that. Give me the strongest damn thing money can buy."

The barman chuckled and headed towards his large collection of bottled goods. He came back with a whiskey and placed in front of me.

"There you go. Enjoy it. You look like you need it."

I picked up the small glass and gulped the liquid down in one. It hit my senses with a bang and I coughed and spluttered as my eyes began to water. I slammed the glass back down and tried to catch my breath.

"Jesus.... Damn it... That's...um pretty strong."

The barman took the glass back from the table. "I told you. You want another?"

"Damn right I do." Another whiskey was placed in front of me. Then another and another.

I was on my fourth whiskey when it hit me again. I couldn't believe it. I was 25 years old and I was going to be a divorcee. A divorcee _and_ and adulterer. I don't think this is what my parents had in mind when they introduced me to Karen at my cousin Sam's Bar Mitzvah. She was the daughter of a family friend and was in college doing some sort of teaching course. I had literally just started Med school. My parents thought she was a perfect match for me. Petite, brunette, intelligent and well read. We clicked straight away but she had just come out of a long-term relationship and I didn't want to force it. So we stayed friends, rang each other, sent letters and whenever I was home I would take some time out to visit her. We were kind of together, but not together. It was strange.

The first time we had sex she had instigated it. I was down for my brother's birthday and we met up for some food. One thing led to another and before you know it I was having sex with her on her parent's sofa. After that day, everything happened so fast. I proposed to her after only nine months and we were married within the year. My parents and her parents were delirious with joy. I must admit I thought it had found the perfect partner and I think she felt the same.

The first year was great despite the long distance between us. She would come and stay regularly for a few days at a time. We would go to the theater, the movies and all that stuff. The sex. Well the sex was fantastic. We did it nearly everyday in every imaginable position. Afterwards on some nights we would talk until four in the morning.

Then that 'honeymoon' period inevitably ended. She started to visit less and less, saying she was bogged down in work and that there was trouble at home. Sex became less exciting as we gradually fell into a sexual rut. All that passion and excitement we had had just dissipated.

Then we began arguing more and more. She would say I was ignoring her. I would say it was the other way round. She would moan about the porn she had found in my room. I would call her cold and frigid for not giving me any. She would accuse me of not considering her feelings. I would call her ungrateful and accuse her of the same thing. I don't think she ever understood how physically and emotionally draining being an oncologist in training can actually be. By the time I got home to her, I was tired, crabby and not in the mood to have a shouting match. Yet she would find something to pick up on and then it would escalate from there.

When I think about it, I don't think me and Karen ever really matched. I think we were both so caught up in the love stuff that we didn't really wait to see if we could function properly as a long term couple. Hopefully I won't make a habit of such things.

I think things had finally snapped, with me anyway, when she was meant to stay with me for a week. I had cleared my diary, hoping to make the week a good one to show her I still cared about her. She called me the night before saying she couldn't come, she had too much stuff going on. On the phone I was calm and collected, I didn't want to upset her by screaming at her. But when I put the phone down I shouted obscenities for about five minutes. Pissed off didn't even cover how I was feeling. I felt betrayed, used, discarded and tossed aside like a teddy bear no longer needed by it's owner. I ended up going to a coffee shop not far from my apartment where I knew they did good cappuccino. I struck up a conversation with the pretty girl who worked the tables, Eva I think her name was, and one thing led to another. I was lonely and felt like I needed somebody. She was hot and single and seemed to be up for anything.

I can't say I was proud of what I have done. I've never stopped loving Karen, I just got bored and I felt like she was pushing me away. After so much pushing, it was inevitable I would go elsewhere.

I twirled the small glass around in my hand, watching the light bounce off the cut glass and casting onto the wall of the bar. The room was beginning to look unsteady. Every one seemed to be tilting back and forth like they were on a ship on rocky seas. I leaned on my left arm to steady myself and called the barman over.

"Can..can you g-get me another?"

He studied my face intently. "Sure but this is your last one buddy."

"Oh c-come on. You can...um.. give me something weaker." I pushed my bottom lip out and gave him a thumbs up.

He rolled his eyes. "OK. You can have some more but only the weak stuff. I don't want you vomiting all over my bar."

I nodded and my head lolled into my arms which were crossed on the top of the bar. _I am so drunk_. I groaned into my arms as the barman came back with a bottle of beer. Lifting my head, I slid my arm over and weakly grasped the bottom of the bottle. My hands and eyes were not in any sort of co-ordination and it took me about four swipes to get the bottle firmly in my grip.

I took a huge gulp of cold beer and wiped my lips. I was about to put my beer back onto the bar when I noticed the song that was playing in the background. It was that damn Billy Joel song again. It had been playing nearly the entire time I had been sitting here. I hated that damn song.

_And if that's how I feel  
Then it's the best feeling I've even known  
It's undeniably real  
Leave a tender moment alone _

I stuck my hands over my ears to drown out the incessant warbling of Billy Joel. Whoever was playing that was going to get a kick up the ass if they put it on once more.

_You got to leave a tender moment alone  
Leave a tender moment  
Leave it alone  
You've got to leave a tender moment  
Leave a tender moment alone _

The song began to fade out and I pulled my hands away from my ears. _Thank god_. I took another gulp of beer and swiveled around on the stool to face the pool table. There weren't many people around as most of the students seemed to have left. There was a short, plump guy playing pool with another short and equally plump guy, a cool looking guy sitting drinking scotch, three loud guys sitting in the corner and laughing about something and a tall blond haired guy standing at the jukebox.

I leaned over on my barstool, straining to see what songs he was putting on. _Please don't Billy Joel on you fucker. Please not that damn song again_. The jukebox clicked and whirred until the familiar piano chords came flowing out of the speakers.

_Even though I'm in love  
Sometimes I get so afraid  
I'll say something so wrong  
Just to have something to say _

"Goddammit." I slid myself off of the barstool and staggered my way towards the guy at the jukebox. I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned round.

"Excuse me man. Could you please _not _play that song again?"

The man raised his eyebrow. "What? You mean this one?" He punched the numbers in once again making sure the next song was also Billy Joel.

"For fucks sake! You've played this fucking song like a million damn times." I waved my arms wildly and shouting at the top of my voice. "I don't like this fucking song."

"Yeah well I do. So deal." He punched the numbers in again.

"Are you trying to annoy everyone here?" I jabbed my finger in his chest.

"Fuck off man." He waved his hand dismissively.

"No you fuck off." I grabbed the beer bottle out of his hand and flung it sideways towards the wall. The next thing I heard was the noise of shattering glass and I looked right to see a huge mirror fall gracefully from its hanging place on the wall. _Shit_.

I stood motionless with my mouth open. I had never done that before; I was usually so good at controlling my anger.

"Hey! What the hell man?" The barman stormed out from behind the counter and grabbed my arm. "You broke the fucking mirror!" I stared at the barman with my mouth still open. "I am gonna have to call the cops man."

"No. No. No. I can pay for it. Really." I went to grasp my wallet from my back pocket.

"It's an antique. You can't pay for it. It's criminal damage man." The barman dragged me behind the bar and ordered me to sit on the stool. I stuck my hands in my hair as I watched him dial 911 on his black phone that hung on the back of the bar wall.

What a perfect end to a goddamn awful day. I gave a laboured sigh as rubbed my palms over my eyes. I looked up to see the cool looking guy making his way towards the bar. He sat down on the barstool in front of the counter and gave me a wink.

"Nice work friend." He grabbed a cigarette out of his top pocket and lit up. "You wanna smoke?"

I shook my head and declined the offer. "I-I don't s-smoke."

He shrugged and stuck his lighter back in his pocket. He took a long drag and held out his hand offering a handshake. "Greg. And your name is?"

I shook his unusually large hand loosely. The drink had seriously diminished my grip. "Um.. James. My name is James."

He nodded and took another drag. "You sure about that? You look a bit feminine to be a James."

I blinked, slightly taken aback by his bluntness. "Yeah, I-I am pretty sure."

"Well James. I wish you luck in prison. You're the type of guy they like in the showers." He stood up off the barstool and as he made his way back to his seat I noticed how tall he was.

What did he mean I was the type of guy they liked in showers? I looked at myself in the mirror that hung behind a bottle of Jack Daniels and shrugged. I couldn't tell if that was a complement or not. I noticed the barman staring at me with venom in his eyes. The cops would be here soon and I would dragged off to the station. I groaned and leaned forward onto the bar, my eyes shutting as I made my head comfortable on my arms.

* * *

I woke up and bolted upright from where I was lying. The bench was cold, hard and gray, like a bench you would find in a prison, not surprising as I was in one. A disgruntled looking Hispanic man nodded to me in acknowledgment of my presence. I nodded in response; I didn't know insider prisoner rules so I just followed his lead. I looked for my watch and found that my wrist was bare.

"So what are you here for?" A gruff voice inquired from across the room.

My head was throbbing, like somebody was throwing a basketball off the inside my skull. I rubbed my head with my left hand. "Um.. I broke a mirror in a bar." I grimaced as a sharp pain seared inside my head. "I can't actually remember that much to be honest."

The Hispanic man chuckled. "It's always the way. Apparently I assaulted a guy last night. I don't remember either."

I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not so I gave a mild chuckle back. I wreaked of stale beer and sweat; I grimaced as a sniffed the front of my shirt. The Hispanic man had fallen asleep and I could hear his faint snoring. I could also feel my eyelids getting heavy. It was three in the morning and I wasn't going to be going anywhere soon. I slipped my legs back up onto the bench and made myself comfortable.

* * *

I was awoken by the sharp sound of a guard bellowing my name.

"James Wilson!" I stood up straight away and saluted at the guard. "What the hell are you doing? Stop embarrassing yourself." I sheepishly removed my hand from my head and lowered my head to face the ground. I could feel myself flushing in embarrassment at my mistake.

The guard untied the keys from his belt and opened the door. "Come on son. You've been bailed."

"Bailed?" I didn't know anybody in New Orleans. Who the hell would bail me out? "Um. By who?"

"Him." The guard gestured round the back of a pillar and a vaguely familiar face popped his head round from behind it.

"James. I'm your guardian angel." The familiar tall guy walked and stood next to the guard. Embarrassingly for me, I couldn't remember his name due to my inebriated state.

"Thank you. Um.." I knew it began with a G._ Gary? No_. _Garth? No! Greg?He looks like a Greg I guess_. I risked it. "...Greg."

He looked at me knowingly. He knew I had guess it. Damn he was observant.

"Come on Mr Wilson. Let's get you outta here and get your personal belongings." The guard escorted me to the front desk as Greg followed close behind. The guard brought out a gray plastic box from the back room filled with my belongings. "So. We have one wrist watch, one white laboratory coat, keys, wallet, I.D clip, one brown envelope and one business card. Is that everything?"

I swiped the items off the bench and smiled. "Yeah. That's everything. Thanks." I folded the lab coat over my arm, placed the envelope on top and pulled it back to my chest. It seemed second nature to do that when I had the envelope in my possession. I signed the book that the guard gestured to on the table.

"Thank you Mr Guard." Greg put his arm around my shoulder and led me out the door. This felt a bit strange. A semi-complete stranger bailing me out of jail for seemingly no reason at all.

The sun was shining when we got outside. It actually felt good to have some sun on me again after being in that dank police cell for 8 hours. Greg patted me on the shoulder and grabbed himself a cigarette out of his pocket. "So James... Fancy a coffee?" I had never seen a man look more effortlessly cool with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

Did I want a coffee with him? I didn't even know him. He could be a grifter or something. He could be trying to lull me into a false sense of security to then steal my money. At the same time, he was a curious proposition. The kind of guy who could be a good coffee pal. "Yeah. Why not?"

"Cool. Come on. Let's go this way." He gestured left and started to walk off briskly in that direction. God he walked fast but I did manage to catch up with him. "So you're a doctor?" He exhaled a deep ring of cigarette smoke.

"Um.. Yeah. How did you know?"

"I saw you at the convention last night. You looked a little lost."

I rubbed the back of neck and sighed. "I was a little. I didn't really know anybody there."

"Likewise. Everybody seemed to know me though." He took a glance at what I had in my arm. "What you got there?"

I tightened my grip on the envelope. "Oh that. It's nothing. Just some papers."

"Papers. Right." He gave himself a smirk which unnerved me slightly. "Hey. How about we go in here?" He gestured to a bright red glass door that led into a funky looking coffee house. He pushed open the door and took the seat that was nearby. He unfurled two dollar bills and handed them towards me. "Espresso, no foam, light on the milk."

I took the notes and headed towards the counter. I had never met anyone like him before. A walking, talking enigma. That was all I could really make out. I watched him stub out his cigarette in the plastic ashtray and ruffle his hair into position. _Everybody seemed to know me_. What did he mean? Was he famous? Am I stupid enough not to recognize him?

I bought the two coffees and took my seat at our table. He quickly took a sip from the coffee mug nearest to him. "Jesus!" He spluttered. "I don't think that's mine." He pushed the mug back to me in disgust. "Do you take coffee with your sugar?"

I pushed his mug towards him. "I like sugary coffee." I gave a weak smile.

"I'll be surprised if you still have your real teeth." He took a massive gulp of his espresso. "God. That's better. So where are you from? I can tell from your perfectly coiffed hair and your soft east coast accent that you are definitely not from Louisiana."

He was good. "I'm from New Jersey but I went to Med school in Montreal."

"McGill?"

"Yeah." I placed my coffee cup down on the table. "So where are you from? I guess you're not from Louisiana either."

"I was born in east Pennsylvania but moved around a lot. So here, there and everywhere." Well there was one piece of information. "So what were you doing at the bar last night? I thought eager new grads like yourself would want to suck up to all the big rich doctors."

"I didn't feel like staying. I had got some bad news and I didn't want to be there."

"Divorce huh?" What! How the hell did he know that? I froze and looked directly into his strangely blue eyes. "I saw the address on the envelope. Lawyers office. You haven't been working long enough to get sued by a patient and you definitely haven't been declared bankrupt judging by your expensive looking sweater."

I rubbed my forehead in resignation. "Yeah. You're right. I got served in the convention."

"Ouch." He grimaced and took another sip of his espresso. "Bad timing."

I chuckled. "Yeah. You could say that." I liked this guy. I felt like I could spill the entire story of marriage to him right here and now. "So why were you in the bar?"

"I hate conventions. I hate the fake pats on the back and small talk. A lecture theater full of smug, overpaid and oversexed morons all trying to outdo each other with their salaries and trophy wives. and I have nothing to say to those guys. I'd much rather be in a bar having a smoke. I only came down here because work was paying for the trip. A free two day trip to Louisiana sounded great to me and it also means I don't have to work and I can have some freedom."

I was astounded at his cynicism and his apathy but at the same time I found it admirable. The fact that he didn't give a damn what anybody thought. Although a doctor that doesn't want to work struck me as somewhat of an oxymoron.

"So why don't you like Billy Joel"

"What?"

"Billy Joel. What's your problem with him?"

"Oh. I don't have a problem with Billy Joel. I like his Glass Houses album. I just hate that damn song that guy was playing."

"Leave A Tender Moment alone is a brilliant song."

"Well not when some guy is playing fifty times over and you're in a crappy mood it's not."

"I suppose you have a point. It's still great though." He lit up another cigarette. "Was it really bad enough to warrant you smashing an antique mirror?"

I shook my head. "No. But I was drunk and pissed off. It just sort of happened."

He chuckled. "Yeah I saw that. You really gave it some feeling. Have you ever considered being a hammer thrower? Beef yourself up on steroids and you'll fit right in." He supped the rest of his espresso and pushed the mug to the side of the table. "You still living in Montreal then?

"No. I moved back to New Jersey about five months ago. I couldn't stand the cold winters and the weather changed every five minutes. I've got a job offer for a hospital in Newark so I might end up working there." I swallowed the last of my extremely sweet coffee and placed the mug down on the table.

"Those Canadian winters can be a bitch. You got the time?" He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table.

"Um.. sure." I jostled the watch out of my back pocket. "Eleven thirty."

His eyes widened as I read out the time. "Shit. I have to go. My flight is at twelve thirty." He stood up in a hurry and swung on his jacket. "I didn't catch your last name by the way."

"Wilson." Why did he want to know my last name?

"OK James Wilson. Thanks for the coffee and the chat." He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tissue. "You got a pen?"

"Sure." I grasped a pen out of my lab coat and handed it over.

"This is my number. Give me a call when you get back to New Jersey and we can have a few beers or something. Ask for House when you call. My roommate is an idiot and tends to cut people off if he doesn't recognize their voice."

I took the tissue from his outstretched hand. _Greg House 862-5676. _He had pretty neat writing for a doctor. Just as he headed out the door I shouted for him. "Greg! One more thing."

"What?"

"Why did you bail me out?"

"You looked interesting and it turns out I was right." With that he left through the red glass door and ran up the street.

I flipped the tissue around in my hand. _I was interesting_? What the hell does that mean? I am addicted to re-runs of Buck Rogers and have a stamp collection. To me that does not scream interesting. I stuffed the tissue into the front pocket of my pants and collected my things. I guess the whole trip hadn't been a complete failure. I mean I had been served, arrested, bailed, mocked, had a panic attack and had a awful hangover but I still managed to make a friend.

A friend that is the enigmatic Greg House.

* * *

**A/N Should I do it from House's POV? Decisions, decisions.**


	2. House

_A/N- I thought doing an entire extra chapter from House's POV may have been too repetitive so I have decided to do a drabble containing House reflecting on his first impressions of Wilson from the evening they met. House's POV obviously._

_Enjoy :D_

* * *

_Nervous and highly strung_. That was my first impression of James Wilson. A walking, talking body of nervous tics and twitches, clasping an envelope so tightly that not even a sumo could wrestle it out of his grip.

Swathed in his lab coat which looked about two sizes too large, he stood out like a sore thumb in a lecture hall full of uninteresting ignoramuses. I remember watching him standing in the corner looking scared as hell, fiddling with the infamous envelope close to his chest. He looked young, his features were soft and boyish, but he looked like he had the entire weight of the world on his shoulders.

Don't ask me why he caught my eye, he just did. I was like Bruce Springsteen spotting the hot, big breasted girl in an audience full of flat chested, dour girls. He just appealed to me, not in a sexual way, but I felt he was an interesting proposition.

I remember watching him leave the hall in a haste and almost stumbling out of the double doors at the side. That's when I decided I should follow him so I made my excuses and followed, or should I say stalked, him.

_Not a drinker. _That was my second impression of James Wilson. I remember watching him drink whisky at the bar and grimacing every time he took a gulp. He obviously had no idea what he was drinking or how strong it was. After every glass, he slammed it down onto the bar and called for another.

_Troubled_. That was my third impression of James Wilson. I remember watching him talking to himself at the bar as the alcohol began to meddle with his senses. Occasionally I caught a few of the words that tumbled out of his mouth. A woman called Karen, a woman called Eva, a coffee shop, something about sex on a parent's couch.

He seemed angry at himself. Every so often he would furrow his thick set eyebrows and shake his head as if he was telling himself off. To be honest I thought he was a lunatic, but at least he was an interesting looking lunatic.

_Trusting. _That was my fourth impression of James Wilson. I remember watching the barman giving him weaker drinks after deciding he was too drunk for anything else. He didn't seem to argue. Instead he trusted the barman's judgement about his own state of mind and accepted the drink given to him.

_Represses his emotions._ That was my fifth impression of James Wilson. I remember watching on in shock as the seemingly meek and nervous young man shouted at another man at the jukebox. All because the man at the jukebox insisted on playing Leave A Tender Moment Alone over and over again. I was rather enjoying it myself.

I remember watching in morbid fascination as the young man turned a darker shade of red before lashing out and throwing a beer bottle at a huge mirror that hung on the wall. The barman then manhandled him onto a stool and called the cops. I remember thinking that the poor guy wouldn't survive a night in the cells.

_Sad_. That was my sixth impression of James Wilson. I remember taking a seat on the stool opposite him and looking straight into his deep brown eyes. As the old adage goes, 'The eyes are the window to the soul' and if that was so then he was one unhappy guy. I remember introducing myself with a firm handshake and some friendly advice and leaving once the cops came to pick him up.

My curious nature got the better of me and I ended up bailing him out of jail. I wanted to know more about him, about why he was here and why he was in that bar.

_Eager to please_. That was my seventh impression of James Wilson. I remember taking him to a coffee house after I bailed him. I foisted some dollar bills towards him and told him my usual order, expecting him to turn in disgust and tell me to get it myself. But he didn't. He took the bills from my fingers and bought what I asked for. Sure he gave me the wrong mug and I ended up getting a mouthful of coffee flavoured sugar, but his action stuck with me.

I remember asking where he was from and discovering he was from New Jersey and he had moved back there after Med school in Canada. I discovered what he had in his possession were divorce papers and that he was served at the convention.

All those bits of pointless information I had gathered helped me form a picture of the James Wilson that sat before me, though time was not on my side. I remember asking him the time and having to leave to catch my flight. I wanted to find out more so I gave him my number and left him sitting in the coffee house.

_Interesting_. That was my last impression of James Wilson before I headed back to New Jersey. Even more interesting was the fact he called me three days later.

I had managed to make a friend.

A friend that is the intriguing James Wilson.

* * *

_A/N- Tis done!_


End file.
